Bougainvilleas and dusty road

The bougainvilleas grew on a stone wall
In a dusty lane that reeked of bad decisions.
They weren't those for which poems were written
Nor were they ever photographed.
But they bloomed.

I noticed it for the first time that day.
Nothing breathtakingly beautiful
But it caught my eye.
I might have compared myself to those bougainvilleas
Blooming unnoticed, but blooming anyway.
But what if I was the wall
who assumed, it was he who was blooming?